Taken Too Literally
by BandGeek58407
Summary: Ben decides to take the knighting by his grandfather a little too seriously, which wouldn't be such a bad thing if Riley hadn't walked in on him. Chaos and silly brotherly fluff ensues. Oneshot.


For those of you who have read "What Lies Buried," the concept for this fic may or may not ring a bell; this is the oneshot that was referenced in chapter 8, only I was really upset because my friend lost it before I had the chance to type it up

For those of you who have read "What Lies Buried," the concept for this fic may or may not ring a bell; this is the oneshot that was referenced in chapter 8, only I was really upset because my friend lost it before I had the chance to type it up. But he found it today, so…here it is!

**And to my friend (you know who you are) who returned it to me: I applaud thee. (clap clap clap) Didn't take as long as my Planets CD. (Lol.)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. And Ben may be a bit OOC, like the infamously funny Buckingham Palace scene.**

Insert title here

Historical things, Ben decided, really do have a lot of secrets to share, unexpected secrets especially. His house was no exception—in the attic was stashed a sort of treasure. Not silver or gold or lost documents, but something else that put a smile on his face.

"Ben?" called Riley's voice after about an hour of rummaging. "What are you doing in—" The younger man stopped talking abruptly, blinking furiously and readjusting his glasses.

With an awkward shuffle and dull clunk of cheap plastic, Ben heroically stepped forward. "Sir Ben, at your service!"

Immediately, a running list of things to keep Ben away from popped up in his head. Beneath "British people" and "creepy spaces between rocks" he quickly added "knight costumes."

This was just getting too weird too fast.

"Excuse me, 'Sir Ben of Atticshire,'" Riley said sarcastically. "I know your grandpa knighted you, but unless he's actually the Queen of England in disguise—which, if you don't mind me saying, would be kind of sketchy—I don't think it really counts."

"Thou art foolish, Master Riley! Dost thou not believeth me?"

And it just kept getting weirder. Wonderful.

"Ben—"

"_Sir_ Ben."

"OK, fine—_Sir_ Ben, we all know you've been working too hard. Why don't you go take a nap?" Even though something in the back of his head was telling him it was a bad idea, Riley walked a bit further into the attic with guarded caution. He was quickly calculating the probability of Ben listening to him—abysmally low—and then the chances of him being able to make him take a nap—abysmally lower, if that was even remotely possible.

"Look over yonder, Master Riley! That cap—wouldst it not fitteth upon thy head? Ye who scoff at my vestments, tryeth for thyself and see!" The hat in question was being prodded by Ben's plastic gray sword.

And there was no way it was going on Riley's head. But the expression he could see on Ben's face through the plastic helmet—eager and childish with a huge grin—made him reconsider. So on the pink cone-shaped princess hat went, trail of silk protruding from the tip threatening to smother him.

"There. Happy?" To his chagrin, he couldn't keep a smirk off his face, and that only added fuel to Ben's mood.

"Thou doth look lovely, Princess Riley," he said with a bow.

Princess? "Do you want me to be a 'damsel in distress' or something?" Again, something told Riley in the back of his mind not to play along (as it could have disastrous consequences), but he still grabbed a nearby mop and held it over his head at an angle. The cloth bits at the head waved slightly, whacking him in the nose. "Ah," he pretended to scream (only not really). "Help me, Sir Ben. The dreaded mop dragon monster…thing…is going to kill me. Ah." And passersby would have probably assumed Riley was going to die of boredom, not "violent dragon death."

"Doth mine ears deceive me? That screaming over yonder from whenst Princess Riley be sounds more masculine than I hadst expected!" With a stubborn frown, Ben turned away from Riley and the mop. "I refuseth to save someone that be not Princess Riley."

Oh the strange direction down which Riley's afternoon had turned.

"Ah!" Riley pretend-screamed again, only in an unnaturally high-pitched voice. "Sir Ben! Please save me from the dreaded mop dragon!" Despite the ridiculousness of the whole ordeal, he oddly enough couldn't help but grin.

"GYAH!" A swift slash of the plastic sword later, the "dreaded mop dragon" laid on the dusty attic floor and was kicked violently to the side. "Thou hast terrorized the land of Atticshire for the last time, mop dragon!" He turned to face Riley, only to find him shaking from suppressed laughter. "Princess Riley—"

"Hm?"

"I have but a single question…but—"

"Just spit it out."

"Princess Riley, it doth seem that…"

"Ben. Come on."

"Thou art a cross-dresser!"

"What?" Riley cried, throwing up his arms and examining his attire of a gray business suit. "No!"

"Thou needst proper royal vestments." At once, Ben began to rifle through the trunk behind him, muttering all the while.

"Hey…uh, _Sir_ Ben, just what _are_ vestments?"

No response: just more mutterings.

"Aha!" And out from the trunk came Riley's worst nightmare in all its glittery splendor. "This beautiful dress was crafted by Merlin himself and hast the power to maketh the wearer feel not so ridiculous!"

Somehow Riley doubted that. "So let me get this straight: you accuse me of cross-dressing so you can shove me in a sparkly, pink, nylon dress?"

"That doth sound correct to me."

"Ben Gates—"

"_Sir_ Ben."

"…_Sir_ Ben Gates, who spiked your espresso this morning?"

"I am sure I know not of what thou speak." Ben immediately grabbed the younger man's shoulder and proceeded to shove him in the sparkly pink nylon dress. It was one of those cheap costumes that velcroed in the back, so the awkwardness was kept to a minimum. "There!"

Riley at this point was quite glad Ben didn't know how to upload pictures onto a computer and send them out for the world to see. He eyed his new apparel with a sort of confused frown as he grabbed the skirt of the dress, swishing it about noisily.

"Thou knoweth that thou wishes to say it."

"I know…" Riley sighed.

"Want to say—oh my god. What are you two doing?"

Of all the people it could have been, it had to be…

"Abigail?" Riley choked.

"What were you going to say, Riley?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, staring at his dress. All he could do was stammer incoherently.

"Yea verily, Princess Riley! What was thou about to saith? Nobody present shall think any lower of you!"

"Did you hear that, Abigail?" Riley said. "He just called you 'nobody'! You should go rough him up!" He held up his fists in what he thought was a tough manner.

Silence.

"_Fine_…" He had barely finished rolling his eyes when he began to spin in circles, arms high above his head like a gymnast. At last when he paused and readjusted his hat, he yelled at the top of his lungs…

"I'm a pwetty, pwetty pwincess!"

And more silence.

"OK…" Ben said finally. "That was _so_ not what I was thinking."

"So you've dropped the ye olde English, _Sir_ Ben?" Riley smirked.

"I'm sorry, but what you just said is enough to shock _anybody_ out of the Middle Ages." With a confused sigh, he played absently with his plastic helmet. "Why would you say 'I'm a pretty, pretty princess'?"

"That's not how you say it!" Riley sighed as he smacked Ben on the arm. "It's 'pwetty, pwetty pwincess.' You're not saying the r's right."

"Pretty pretty princess?"

"Pwetty!"

"Pretty?"

"_Pwetty!_"

"Princess?"

"_Pwincess!_"

They continued on in this manner, and all Abigail could do was stare. There were no words to describe the utter strangeness of it all.

"Um…am I interrupting something I shouldn't be witnessing?" It was Patrick, and where he came from Abigail had no idea.

"I…haven't quite decided yet," she muttered, eyes glued to the argument.

"Pretty princess?"

"_Pwetty princess!_"

"Benjamin Franklin Gates!" Patrick suddenly shouted.

"_Sir_ Ben," Ben said with a smile.

"No, 'sir,' young man. And Riley whatever-your-middle-name-is Poole! What do you two think you're doing?"

At this Riley did a sort of graceful jump and landed in Ben's arms like he was reclining on a couch. "I'm the damsel in distress. Ben saved me from the dreaded mop dragon that had been terrorizing Atticshire." He added a charming grin when the others failed to crack a smile.

"Downstairs." Abigail clearly failed to see the humor in this. "_Now_." Grabbing Patrick by the arm, she marched right out of the attic.

"Geez," Riley muttered as Ben unceremoniously dropped him. "What a downer."

"Nay!" Ben exclaimed. "That evil sorceress will not have the last say! Come Princess Riley, let us teacheth a lesson to Mistress Abigail…"

XNTXNTXNTX

"Boys!" Abigail called up the stairs. It had been fifteen minutes since their encounter in the attic and they had yet to come down. "Boys!" she yelled again. "Come on, we have work to—"

All of a sudden, the floor rose up to meet the back of her head and her face was covered with the chemical-saturated cloth tendrils of an old mop. She sat up, rubbing her head and pushing the mop off her, only to catch a flash of pink nylon and gray plastic round the corner at the top of the stairs.

"THE MOP DRAGON OF ATTICSHIRE STRIKES AGAIN!"

XNTXNTXNTX

This is what goes on in my mind. And as you can see, it's a very scary place. Heehee. And also, I apologize for butchering old English. I tried as best I could to get it right.

**Please review! **


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